I used to think that every blog post needed a “theme.” Decorating. Writing. Jane. Marriage. Now they all sort of run together, a messy landscape of colors and crafts and messes and meals. It’s hard to partition things into themes these days.

Life. It’s a mesh of pink roses blooming in the yard, housework, regular work, intense games of peekaboo with Jane (that’s her favorite new hiding spot in the library). It’s a blur of walks around the neighborhood  cereal for breakfast, patio lights, shrimp on the grill, and gorgeous springtime sunlight. Have I mentioned the pink roses?

Of course, life is also piles of dirty laundry, a moth problem in our pantry that is a constant battle despite the new paint and glass food containers. It’s a junky garage and some fairly serious fits from Miss Jane.Two year old fits people, it’s stuff of legend. I remember my sisters’ fits back in the day, but they weren’t really my responsibility. Jane is my responsibility, and it puts things on a whole new level. She got mad at me on Saturday and grabbed onto my leg, screaming. I picked her up and put her in her bedroom and shut the door. She screamed,  and wailed, and beat on the door. It lasted about five minutes. When things got quiet I opened the door and peeked in. She was sitting in the middle of the floor, hugging her bunny rabbit, sniffing and wiping her nose. I hugged her and thanked her for being a big girl and not crying anymore. She wrapped her arms around my neck and said, “I wuv you.” And then my heart exploded in my chest.

See? There’s no themes for posts anymore. Our lives are just a big jumble of chaos, beautiful and nutty. I wouldn’t trade it. I would, however, trade some of our gorgeous roses for a few extra hours of sleep. Oh sleep, you elusive lady you.

I’ve woken up to Jane’s screams for the last five mornings in a row. I’m starting to feel like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Every time my eyes open to greet the dawn I clench my teeth and flinch, waiting for the air around me to be filled with shrieks of two year old teething horror. But this morning Jane voluntarily relinquished her THREE pacifiers for a few minutes, so I’m hoping and praying relief is on the horizon. Until then we’re single-handedly keeping the Infant Advil company afloat.

In two words: this sucks. Just ask Mabel, she’ll tell you. She’ll also tell you that we’re way overdue giving her a haircut and she feels like a sheep dog. And she doesn’t like it.

I’m so excited to have the new dining room light fixture hung. It’s a welcome change from this.  I bought the fixture here. Be not deceived people. It is not gray. It is beige. We spray painted it to match the trim and built in china cabinet. The first night it was up I kept playing with the dimmer until I burned one of the bulbs out. That’s how I know my crazy is showing. I blame all the crack of dawn screaming. Seriously, it’s only a matter of time before my eye begins to permanently twitch.

Then again, it was only a matter of time anyway.

 

This weekend it rained off and on for two days and our yard turned into a jungle. A big, beautiful jungle. I’m so thankful.

Jane has been sick with the worst cold, and on top of that is teething to the max. As far as I can tell, it’s her molars. Oh boy. She cries. She won’t eat. She won’t drink. She clings to me. She won’t sleep. It just breaks my heart. Yesterday she didn’t want to climb the stairs and I carried her up. I thought she was holding on tighter to my neck than she was, and when I got to the top hallway I accidentally dropped herface down on the carpet. Her nose started to bleed, and she screamed and cried, and I cried, and thank goodness for cold towels. I have to tell you, I haven’t ever felt so awful and guilty in my entire life. I couldn’t stop crying. Even after Jane had recovered and asked to sit on the potty, and she was playing with her sound making Disney princess book, I just kept balling.

Jane, however, was fine and happily move don to  push the magic wand button on her book.

I kept boo-hooing.

Jane started pushing the rabbit button repeatedly and bouncing sounds echoed off the bathroom walls and she bounced her own feet off the floor repeatedly. Her little right nostril was caked with a tiny bit of dried blood.

“Bunny wadddit!” she yelled, giggling at her own cleverness.

She’s cornered the market on comic relief.

“An early morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.”

-Henry David Thoreau

When I walk I write. In my head. I come up with book ideas, characters, story plots. If I’m not taking regular walks, you can bet I’m not writing either.

I also use that time to think about blogging and the things I want to do, and sometimes the things I want to change. It’s like a creative board meeting with the birds and foggy spring air.

Six years ago last month I started Mabel’s House. It looked so different then. The photos weren’t great. The writing was stiff. I read other blogs constantly looking for what I should be doing in life, most of which contained pictures of people’s homes decorated primarily from Hobby Lobby. No bueno.

And then the pressure increased. I felt the need to read every blog of every person reading mine. I felt the need to return every single comment. I kept up with traffic statistics. I read and studied “big” blogs to see what they were doing differently, doing better. I thought I needed to do a decorating project every week to be interesting. Then one late night a couple of years ago I realized I was working 20 to 30 hours a week (in addition to my full time job) and Mabel’s House had become an un-fun burden. I came very close to hitting delete on this whole shebang.

I wasn’t blogging because I could, I was blogging because I should.

I was “shoulding” myself into a really exhausting place.

In the past I’ve shrugged off a lot of “should’s.” I stopped tanning (no wrinkles + no cancer = win/win). I cut off my hair. I wear pantyhose to work functions during the summertime because it’s professional and I don’t care what Stacy and Clinton say. I only clean my bathrooms every two weeks because WHO HAS THE TIME? And since I was able to reject these “should’s” why was blogging be any different?

That’s when the changes came. I reduced my blog reader list from over 300 to my favorite 20. I turned off the comment section on the blog. I decorated my house only when I felt like it and only when I had the money. I stopped checking traffic statistics. I gave myself permission to stop carrying my camera around constantly. And you know what? I rediscovered that I really love blogging.

I love it this way, not the way it used to be. I’m telling you all of this because, if I were a betting woman, I’d be willing to place cash on the table that someone today is reading this post and feeling the same way. Uninspired. Overwhelmed. Confused. And to you I say, “Do what you want.” If that means reducing your reader feed and my blog is one that gets the axe… go for it. If that means you don’t post every day… go for it.

After all, aren’t we here for the fun of it? We don’t have a boss who will get mad at our attendance record, or teachers who will grade us on originality and spelling (actually, there are plenty of people who will grade/judge you on spelling and grammar but just ignore them and keep writing).

 I want to encourage you to blog because you can, and you enjoy it… not because you should.

Also, take an early morning walk every now and then. It really is the best mental medicine.

 

A couple of weeks ago we finally painted the living room, or as we like to call it, the bowling alley.

It’s long and narrow, a veritable rubik’s cube for furniture arrangement.

Below is a picture of the room as it was listed online when the house was for sale. Fine, but not my style. And the brown walls. Have I mentioned I couldn’t take them? And have I mentioned that they’re EVERYWHERE upstairs?

Sigh.

Ok. I’ll stop talking now and let you look.

Someday I’d love to have a desk area by the window near the Weasley China Cabinet.  And there’s still a little work to do on the tv console wall (which is why I didn’t show that area). But, overall I’m really happy with the way it’s turning out.

I do, of course, expect some of you to be horrified by our big brown leather sectional because there once was a day when I myself would have been horrified. Obviously sleek mid-century sofas are more stylish, and fluffy, white slip-covered couches are more cottagey. And I love both of those things. But I’ve come to learn that those mid-century sofas don’t feel so great when you’re trying to take a nap on them. And the fluffy, white slip-covered couches get stained, and yes you can bleach them. And you will. Every. Single. Week. So that’s my argument for the big brown couch. It’s stain proof. It’s smell proof. And I can get comfy on it when I have the flu.

Dangit.

Adulthood has seriously altered my decorating perimeters.